


this love is like sun on the rise

by a_splash_of_stucky



Series: By Morning Light [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Fluff, Food Fight, Implied Sexual Content, Lazy Mornings, Multi, Pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: The boys try to surprise you. Things…don’t work out as planned.





	this love is like sun on the rise

**Author's Note:**

> oh hey there....*whistles innocently*
> 
> We’re finally getting an update on this fic! *does happy dance*
> 
> I’m sorry it’s been so long, y’all. Life has been busy, my inspiration dried up, and I kinda wasn’t loving this particular series so…I left it alone, for a bit. Still probably not gonna update it very regularly, but I will finish it. Anyway, I hope you like the floof :)
> 
> Title is from ‘Still Falling For You’ by Ellie Goulding

Waking up is a hit-or-miss type of experience.

Sometimes, it’s a cruel and unforgiving yank into reality, a harsh slap to the face delivered by the persistent blaring of Steve’s alarm clock. Until you’ve got some food in your system and downed no less than a gallon of coffee, all you are is a crusty-eyed and enormously cranky shell of a human being.

Other times, waking up can be a little less harsh of an experience (though, no less reluctant, on your part). These mornings consist of you burrowing deep into the covers, whilst someone — usually Bucky — pokes and prods and gently cajoles you into getting out of bed. His strategy often involves bribing you with the promise of — yep, that’s right: coffee.

Today is unlike either of those days.

Today is a slow and gentle return to consciousness, pieces of the world sliding into focus, one after the other. You’re not exactly sure what pulls you from your sleep, but you gradually become aware of the textures and temperatures and sounds around you.

First, it’s the feel of your pillow beneath your cheek, the brushed cotton pillowcase a soft and silky-smooth texture on your skin. Next, it’s the weight of your duvet above you, the marshmallow-like mountain protecting you from the chill of the cold winter morning. Other elements of the world slowly trickle into focus, from the general creaking and whirring of your house, to the distant noises of the city waking up.

A loud crash destroys all semblance of peace you’d been enjoying.

“Wha’ th’ hell?” you mumble, your words muffled due to the fact that your face is buried in your pillow.

It is at this point that you realise that the bed on either side of you is empty. Your legs aren’t tangled up with Bucky’s, nor is Steve’s arm slung over your waist. The sound of your boyfriends’ steady breathing is also, distinctly missing.

You are immediately suspicious.

Or, well. As suspicious as you  _can_ be, this early in the morning.

Which is to say, not that suspicious at all.

With a grumble, you push yourself up onto your elbows and squint at the digital clock on the nightstand. It takes a while for you to make out the numbers through your sleepy, bleary eyes, but when they do finally come into focus, your confusion immediately deepens.

It’s barely ten minutes past six in the morning. The sun’s not even  _out,_ for fuck’s sake. Why on earth are they up at ass-crack o’clock?

You flop your head back down onto your pillow with a soft  _oomph_. As you tug the duvet around your shoulders, you grumble incoherently, cursing your boyfriends under your breath.

It’s a bloody  _Saturday,_ for goodness’ sake. Saturdays are for sleeping in, and you damn well need this lie-in after the hectic week of meetings and unexpected deadlines you’ve just had.

But, even as you close your eyes and will your body to slip back into a state of unconsciousness, you already know that it’s a lost cause. Your mind is too active now, the gears and cogs of your brain whirring to life, preparing to start your day.

As you lie there in a state of half-sleep, you wandering mind begins to think about what that crash could have been. It’s definitely the boys doing something downstairs — the question is, what?

You quickly dismiss the idea of them fighting an intruder or something in your house, largely because you know that the security system installed in your place would put the White House to shame.

Thus, Steve and Bucky must be doing…something else downstairs. Something that does not involve fighting bad guys, but does involve loud crashing noises.

Steve and Bucky waking up early can either be a really good thing, or a really bad thing, you muse. They’re both equal parts angel and troublemaker, but this early in the morning, it’s too hard to tell which side of their personality is coming through.

The boys waking up early is, in itself, not unusual. Steve has a penchant for going out on runs just before sunrise, because he likes how peaceful the streets are at that time. And, if Bucky’s had a bad night, he’ll often sit on the sofa to watch the sunrise, or maybe go out on a walk to clear his mind.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” you gasp, jerking out of your half-asleep state when another loud crash rings through the house. It’s followed by a string of colourful swear words and an especially loud  _shhh_!

Yep. It’s time to investigate.

You groan, rolling onto your back and stretching your arms out to the side, yawning wide as you feel your joints pop. A smile crosses your lips when you sense a weight shifting around on your bed, creeping along your right side. A petite, fluffy tabby appears by your right shoulder, head tilted to the side and ears flicking in curiosity.

A husky chuckle rumbles from your throat. “Mornin’ Disney,” you murmur, as you rub your knuckles between her ears.

“What’re your dads doin’ downstairs, huh?” you ask quietly, “Shall we go an’ take a look?”

Disney seems too distracted by your fingers to really take note of your question. For a minute, you allow yourself to be transfixed by her deep, happy purrs, letting the sound wash over you in waves.

The three of you decided to adopt Disney from a pet shelter a couple of months ago. You can safely say that getting her has been one of the better decisions that you’ve made in your lifetime. Annoying tendencies to scratch up the furniture and knock things over with her tail aside, she’s the sweetest thing in the entire universe. Disney is a great comfort to you when the boys are away on long missions, and a wonderful companion to the boys when the pressures of world-saving become a little too much to handle.

You and Disney lie there for an unspecified amount of time, the only sounds in the room being Disney’s contented little purrs and your slow breathing. You’re contemplating whether or not it’s really worth leaving your blanket fort to investigate the happenings downstairs. It’s been at least five minutes since the second crash, and there haven’t been anymore loud noises in that time, but that doesn’t really put you at ease.

Steve and Bucky are more than capable of handling themselves but — well, they’re not the best of cooks, and you’d rather not be forced out of bed because the house was burning down, or something.

With a heavy sigh, you gingerly push yourself up into a sitting position and lift Disney onto Steve’s pillow, before rolling out of bed. You head into the bathroom to relieve yourself, wash your face and brush your teeth, before slipping on your fluffy pink bathrobe — the one with the bunny ears attached to the hood — and sliding your feet into a pair of blue and white polkadot slippers. When Disney realises that you’re about to leave the room, she elegantly leaps off the bed and pads over to you, winding herself around your legs and butting her head against your calves.

“C’mon baby,” you whisper, as you pull open the bedroom door. “Let’s see what they’re— _oh_.”

You break off as the pungent smell of burnt food assaults your nostrils. It’s overpoweringly bitter and wholly unpleasant; the stench makes you want to gag. Even Disney seems unimpressed, flicking her tail the way she does when she’s annoyed. Whatever’s going on downstairs can’t be good.

Yep. It’s definitely time to investigate.

You make your way downstairs, pulling your robe tighter around your chest to protect your skin from the chilly morning air. The burning smell only becomes stronger with each step you take — you’re surprised that you haven’t thrown up by this point, honestly.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the Steve and Bucky are in the kitchen. You cross the living room, Disney hot on your heels, and pause at the entryway to your kitchen to assess the scene.

To describe the kitchen as ‘chaos’ would be a euphemism.

It looks like a hurricane has whipped around the room. A bag of flour seems to have exploded, as every surface — the cupboards, the countertops, the floor,  _everything_  — is coated in a layer of white dust. A tin of cocoa powder also seems to have burst open, because the kitchen counters are speckled with streaks of rich brown. Pots and pans and dirty spoons are scattered across the worktops; used bowls have been stacked up into haphazard piles in and around the sink. The floor is littered with slices strawberries and a couple of banana peels. Egg shells scattered in random places complete the overall aesthetic.

The boys have — thankfully — opened up the windows to air out the house and get rid of that pungent burnt odour, but right now, the scent is plugging up your nostrils and making each breath a struggle.

Steve and Bucky are standing by the stove, hunched over a pan and murmuring quietly amongst themselves. They’re so focused that they haven’t even heard you come in. Bucky says something to Steve, who turns around to grab something off the kitchen island. When he sees you, standing in the entryway with your arms folded over your chest, he freezes like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Mornin’ Stevie,” you say, the corner of your mouth crooking up into a smirk.

“Uhh…good morning, sweetheart,” Steve says, in a strangled voice. When Bucky whirls around, you just manage to catch the look of shock-and-dismay that crosses his face, before it gets replaced by a beaming grin.

“Mornin’ beautiful!” Bucky chirps, “Ready for breakfast?”

You pointedly glance around the trashed kitchen, before arching an eyebrow questioningly. “You were making breakfast?” you ask dryly, “Could’a fooled me. I thought you just had a food fight.”

Suspiciously bright flushes of red bloom across Steve’s cheekbones. It’s then that you notice the smears of white on Steve’s t-shirt and sleep pants, to match the multicoloured splatters on Bucky’s clothes. There are streaks of white and — oh goodness, is that  _egg_ in their hair?

“You  _did_ have a food fight, didn’t you?” you sigh, shaking your head in fond annoyance.

“Well…Steve started it,” Bucky says, giving you a cheeky wink before turning back to jiggle his pan around. Steve is spluttering in shock.

“Bucky!” he cries, not unlike an indignant toddler.

“Yes?” Bucky sing-songs, drawing out the syllable.

“I—you— _ugh_  why do I even bother?” Steve mutters darkly.

Disney gracefully leaps up onto the kitchen counter and starts pawing curiously at the bits and bobs littered on the messy surface, taking particular interest in a couple of blueberries.

Steve frowns at her as he runs his fingers through the silky-soft fur of her back. “Disney,” he scolds, “I thought we were clear on the plan? You were supposed to keep your mother in bed until we’d finished!”

“Told ya’ we should’a gone with my idea,” Bucky drawls, glancing over his shoulder

“Shuddup,” Steve says, without missing a beat, “Disney just needs a little more training, is all.”

“Hold up—what plan?” you ask, interrupting their bickering. You step forward and cautiously lean your elbows on the island countertop — after checking that you’re not putting your robe in anything suspicious, of course.

“Uhh…we were gonna make you breakfast,” Steve says slowly.

“Okay, I got that. But…why?”

Bucky sighs, turning off the stove and stepping up behind Steve, looping his metal arm around Steve’s waist. “‘Cause we wanted to do somethin’ nice for you, to say sorry for missing our anniversary,” Bucky explains.

You’re fairly certain that your heart melts into a puddle at his words. “Really?”

“Yeah, sweetie,” Steve murmurs, a shy smile gracing his lips, “We were gonna make you breakfast and feed it to you in bed and then take you out, and—,”

“Treat you like a princess,” Bucky finishes.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees.

Without saying a word, you briskly stride around the island and throw yourself into their arms, not caring about the fact that you’re probably getting all kinds of foodstuffs onto your clothes. There are tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your heart feels so  _full_ you genuinely think that it might burst. Steve and Bucky hold you close, Bucky burying his face against your neck, Steve tucking your head under his chin.

“Honeys, you didn’t have to,” you mumble, your voice coming out muffled because your face is smushed into Steve’s glorious pecs. “We already did something and—,”

“But we didn’t do something  _special_ ,” Steve protests, “Buck and I were away on a mission for most of the day—,”

“And when we got home, we basically passed out for a million hours,” Bucky adds.

“But I didn’t care!” you insist, “We said I love you, and I got a really nice card—,”

“But  _I_ care, gorgeous,” Steve says quietly, crooking his index finger under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up to look into his beautiful, bright blue eyes. “ _We_ care. We wanted to do something special for you. Treat you like a princess.”

“Sap,” you sniffle, giving him a watery smile.

Steve rumbles approvingly as you card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “You  _always_ treat me like a princess, darlings,” you murmur, humming softly as Bucky presses a kiss to the crook of your neck. “You  _always_ treat me like I’m the most special thing in the world.”

“Well then, we wanted to try do something  _extra_ special, today,” Bucky says, letting you go as he takes a step back. He pauses as his eyes do a quick scan around the kitchen. “Uh…emphasis on  _try_ , I guess.”

You burst out laughing, twisting out of Steve’s grip as you spin in a slow circle, letting the enormity of the mess sink in. “Yeah…I’d have to agree with you there, Buck,” you snort, “What happened?”

Steve sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face and frowning when his fingers come away coated in flour.

He may or may not have a dusting of white on his cheek.

“Well…the breakfast plan was pancakes with sausages,” he starts, looking to Bucky for some assistance.

“Yeah, but then—uh…we got sidetracked with the pancake idea,” Bucky says, gesturing vaguely around the room. You chuckle in amusement.

“And I’m guessing you burned the sausages, or something?” you ask teasingly.

Steve’s blush deepens. “What gave it away?” he mumbles.

“Oh, I think the burning smell might have been a big clue,” you say airily.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Steve says stubbornly, a cute little furrow appearing in the middle of his brow. “Bucky was in charge of—,”

“It’s not Bucky’s fault that he doesn’t know how to use this fancy-shmancy new oven!” Bucky protests, throwing his arms up in frustration as he turns back to the stove, “And yes, Bucky is now referring to himself in third person, because why the ever-loving fuck not?”

You giggle helplessly, coming up behind Bucky and wrapping your arms around his muscled waist. You plant a kiss on his shoulder — the metal one — and he cranes his head back to press his lips to your forehead. “So what’s on the stove, then?” you ask.

“Erm…it’s supposed to be pancake batter,” Steve says apologetically, popping up on your left side.

You peer over Bucky’s shoulder and narrow your eyes in suspicion. “It’s so…watery,” you comment hesitantly.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, yeah, we fucked up,” he grumbles.

You giggle, patting his side consolingly. “Okay then, how ‘bout this — since I’m awake now and I’m the only one out of the three of us who can actually  _make_ pancakes, why don’t you let me handle the cooking?”

“But gorgeous!” Steve protests, “You aren’t supposed to—,”

“Whilst you boys clean up this mess,” you interrupt, holding your hand up to stop him. Steve’s mouth snaps shut and he concedes to your request with a shrug.

Bucky hangs his head down and sighs exaggeratedly. “Well, I ‘spose that’s fair,” he admits, “But I want a good morning kiss ‘fore I get to it.”

You roll your eyes but indulge his request, loosening your grip on his waist so that Bucky can turn around and catch you in his arms. Then, before you know it, he’s slanting his lips over yours and kissing you like he means it — luxurious and deep, with just the right amount of tongue.

As he pulls away, you tip your head backwards and to the side, easily finding Steve’s lips. He kisses you with just as much reverence and tenderness, teasingly flicking his tongue over your bottom lip. Steve tastes of strawberries and mint toothpaste.

They manage to distract you for several long minutes, taking it in turns to claim your mouth. Steve cups the back of your head, whilst Bucky’s thumbs rub circles into your sides. Your pleased sighs and soft moans fill the air.

Unfortunately, breakfast is not about to cook itself.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough now,” you say firmly, wriggling out of their grip and twisting to face the stove. “Time to clean now.”

You give Bucky a playful shove when he tries to swoop in for another kiss. “ _Clean_ ,” you repeat, more forcefully this time, though it’s hard to be serious when you have two goofballs for boyfriends.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky says, snapping you a two-fingered salute.

“Jesus fuckin’  _Christ,_  Buck—Peggy would’a had a heart attack if she saw that,” Steve mutters, as he crouches down to get the cleaning supplies out of the cupboard under the sink.

“Yeah, well, at least I didn’t scare her by running into HYDRA bases without waiting for—,”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky! That was just the  _one time_ —,”

“Nu-uh! One time in  _France_ , and then another one time in Italy, and then—,”

“I waited for backup in Italy!”

“Stevie, honey, I think you and I remember Italy very differently.”

“Well yeah, that’s ‘cause all you ‘member ‘bout Italy was how I sucked you off in…”

You shake your head in fond exasperation, tuning out their conversation as you pull out the ingredients you’ll need. Honestly, the two of them argue like an old, married couple — but, you wouldn’t have them any other way. You start to hum quietly under your breath as you measure out the ingredients into a mixing bowl, the motions familiar and soothing to you. You’ve learned from experience to make triple the normal recipe, because super-soldier metabolism is not to be messed with.

Disney appears on the kitchen counter and plops herself down by the bowl, watching you with keen eyes as you mix everything together.

She seems especially interested in the chocolate chips.

You shoo her away when it’s time to actually cook the pancakes — you don’t want to accidentally set her tail on fire, or something. The boys have actually done quite well, so far; Steve is busy attacking the mountain of dishes and utensils by the sink, whilst Bucky has made a lot of progress in wiping down the surfaces and cleaning up the spillages on the floor.

As you wait for the pan to heat up, you lean your palms against the side of the counter and close your eyes, content to just listen to the sounds around you. Bucky’s low whistling and the squirting noises coming from his spray bottle overlay the running tap and the clattering and banging of Steve’s dishwashing.

There’s something so  _domestic_  about it all.

Not for the first time, you can’t help but think how goddamn lucky you are to have these two wonderful souls to share your life with. Yeah, the morning might not have gone exactly the way Steve and Bucky had planned, but — the love in the air is so palpable you could almost stick your tongue out and taste it. The atmosphere is homey, and amiable, and everything you never knew you wanted.

Fucking hell, Steve’s sappiness is rubbing off on you.

You pour in some of the pancake batter when the pan seems hot enough, then dart off to grab some plates and a spatula.

Flipping pancakes takes you back to lazy Sunday mornings in your family home. You remember the cartoons playing on low volume in the background, whilst you and your parents made breakfast in the kitchen. You remember listening to your dad singing off-key as the pancakes piled up in an impressive stack beside him. Sometimes, your mother would be baking — cookies, muffins, bread, whatever she was in the mood for. You remember feeling so  _happy_ and fulfilled and loved.

It’s funny how things can be so different and simultaneously so similar. The sounds are different, the house is different, the people around you are different — but you feel no less happy, or fulfilled, or loved, with this new family of yours. If anything, those emotions have only increased tenfold.

You’re so engrossed in your thoughts that you let out a startled gasp when someone wraps their arms around your waist.

“Oops, sorry, honey,” Steve apologises, laughing softly as he ducks to press a kiss behind your ear. “Jus’ wanted to say that it smells good.”

“S’almost ready,” you tell him, turning to brush your lips over the tip of his nose. “Set the table, please?”

“On it,” he says, letting go of you with an affectionate squeeze to your ass.

As you pour the last of the batter into the pan, you listen as Steve lays out the cutlery on the small dining table in the alcove. Bucky is calling out to Disney as he shakes her cat food into her bowl. You slide the last pancake onto the plate, turn off the stove, then grab the two enormous pancake stacks and carry them over to the dining table, setting the plates in the middle so that everyone can help themselves.

“Oooh  _damn_ , sweetie, those look great,” Bucky says, coming up beside you.

Once you’ve set the plates down, you turn towards him and are pleasantly surprised to see him with a mug of coffee in each hand, one of which he holds out towards you.

“Thanks, honey,” you say softly, accepting the mug from him and wrapping your fingers around it.  

“Made it just the way you like it,” he says, leaning in to peck you on the lips. You take a quick sip and nod your approval — just the way you like it indeed.

Steve comes over at that point and sets the condiments down on the table. There’s syrup, honey, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, bananas and a range of berries. Frankly, you’re surprised that he managed to carry all of that over without dropping anything.

Bucky, ever the gentleman, pulls out your seat and gestures for you to sit down with a great flourish. You giggle, gingerly perching on the chair as he pushes you in. Steve sits down on your right and Bucky on your left, the three of you facing the gigantic windows so that you can watch the sky change colour as the sun climbs through it. Right now, it’s a wonderful gradient of purples and pinks.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” Steve says, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. Bucky’s flesh hand curls over your thigh, thumb stroking the soft skin there.

“Happy anniversary, darlings,” you murmur, settling into your chair as Steve dishes out the pancakes. You reach for your favourite toppings and add them in generous servings to your plate.

“Of  _fuck_ ,” Bucky moans. Your head snaps to the side so fast, you almost give yourself whiplash. Bucky’s chewing with his eyes closed, a blissed-out expression on his face. He stuffs another forkful into his mouth and moans again.

You turn to Steve and share a look with him. He raises an eyebrow, whilst you try to suppress your giggles.

That moan sounded  _a lot_ like Bucky’s sex moan.

“Guess they call it food porn for a reason, huh, Buck?” Steve asks, voice lighthearted and teasing.

Bucky nods emphatically, before turning to look at you. “Honey, you’re amazing, and I love you and your pancakes.”

You can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of your throat, then, bright and cheerful and amused.

“Taste!” Bucky urges, breaking off a scrap of pancake with his finger, drenching it in syrup and bringing it to your mouth.

You take the pancake from his fingers, being sure to give an exaggerated groan when his thumb presses against your lips. Before Bucky can pull his hand away, your tongue darts out to lick the syrup from his fingers. You look at him through your lashes and make quiet, pleased noises in the back of your throat as you clean him off.

You don’t miss the way Bucky’s eyes darken, nor do you miss the way Steve’s breathing hitches. You sense Steve throwing his arm over the back of your chair as he leans in close, his face right up against the side of your neck.

“ _Behave_ , princess,” Steve growls quietly, nipping your earlobe for emphasis.

You have a feeling you know how the rest of your morning is going to go down.

**Author's Note:**

> Share the love on the [tumbles](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/172446091095/by-morning-light-iii/)


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